The Story Of Shadow: Bed Of a Slave
by Hello Mickey
Summary: Faron, A once well-armed Argonian is captured and forced into slavery on the land of Tamriel under the cruel hands of a Dark elf and his orcish bodyguard. Seeing the injustice done to him and his friends, he decides to rebel against their master and take to the hills on a quest that will surely get them all killed...
1. Chapter I:Cropwork

**Chapter I: Crop work**

It was early in the mid-August when the crops drooped between the salcrise and stone-flower stocks tied leaves under the melting sun in the field. The heat simmered down over the slaves sweating backs, causing them to work twice as hard on the plantation. Faron, the once well-armed __Argonian__ (Half-lizard, Half-man) was now nothing but a lone slave himself; spending hours during the day plucking cobleroot and ash-yams from the dry ground and long nights enduring painful lashes from their Slavemaster when having done wrong…or absolutely nothing. The whips were long, hard vines made of skinned scamp's which were gremlin-like creatures hunted in only the driest parts of __Tamriel__ which had a wicked set of teeth-like plants woven into the leather of the weapon to tear away at the succulent flesh of the several slaves wounded spines. There on the plantation, the slaves spent hours in the blazing sun working with little water and only pillow less cot's that lied on the cottage floor to sleep on during sleepless nights.

Faron rose on his bony legs and lifted his snout to question what hours he had left. Would this be the life he had to live? The life started as a lonely prisoner, the great thief, but suddenly a warrior from across the realms, To a Farm-slave? His toes pattered across the deserted grass and onto the muddy mix of dirt and stones of cobleroot and salcrise. Leaning, he used his bare, dusty claws to grab the rough stems of the cobleroot and yank up the muddy roots of the piney stems that held it so far into the ground, searching for signs of air. The thorns dug into his scale-covered palms and they started to bleed as he reached the mine cart. He dusted the ends off with hope and pride, then dropped it in. He lifted his nose once again and stared off into the distance, over the grassy hills where the burning amber that was only just rising over the peak and a bull-etch passed over the mid-day sun.

"You have great hope, Argonian?" Asked a __Khajjit__ (Half-Cat human Half-man)from next to him in her hiss-sort of tone from the ancient's of __Elsweyr__.  
"I was once a great warrior..." admitted Faron Plainly. He turned to look at her, she had silk, light brown fur tattered and patched with dirt. She had bright green eyes like his own and curled whiskers, her cat like ears pierced and her fur bare, down until her patchy farming pants they all had to wear, he could see her pointed claws curled beneath the ends of her bare toes.

"Yes?" She smiled.

"And I still am..." Faron finished dryly, reaching down to pull out another root.

"Hibsi has advice for you, Argonian," The Khajjit added watching him with a thoughtful glance as he passed her on his way to the mine cart.

"Hibsi knows who you are...she knows you are more than a slave, she knows you are more..." She caught a glimpse into his cool green eyes and a slow smile curled under her whiskers as she growled,

"You are much...much more." The Sun sat slowly over the blue sky and many of the slaves continued to work. Faron's hands were bloody... And so were the rest of them. He turned to look at the shaggy hut and the one next to it which was the slave masters.

"Marshbrother knows what you are thinking, a true warrior would" whispered High-in -Heart next to the tall standing Argonian. Faron turned and looked at him, and then back at the slave master Shack " _ _click click click__..." High - In- heart muttered passing away slowly. Faron picked up a stalk of __Salcrice__ and dropped it in the mine cart full of Ash- yams and cob root. Slink-in-Sun was the first to add to the cart before him. If one of the following where not put into the mine cart you would have to be tied up and whipped as would the last person who added supplies; root or flower. Muck and rat meat was splattered into a bowl and thrown viciously onto the hardwood table, Rat meat or even muck was the best meal they could get all week. Rat meat was tough and greasy and had an unpleasant taste and stench to it. While __ground-muck__ was spooned out of a mud hole and stirred with swamp water and seasoned with wheat for flavor.

After dinner they proceeded to turn their bowls in to the wood scrubbers then headed down to the river in the morning to clean their own dishes and return to the hut before 9 Am, where breakfast would be served. There breakfast normally consisted of __Kwama scuttle__ , stale bread and __scrib-jelly__. Their beds were made of Wick wheat and cotton that was rolled up in the end for a 'pillow' (which didn't do much good when lying on a hardwood floor). Their farm camp was not the only slavery there was... there was also town camps, mine camps, and personal slaves who worked around the house or did what their master had ordered them to do. Every form of slave where to obey their slave masters and harsh treatments as every other slave... Morning rose and early before 7:30 they would wake and start working until breakfast. Their master served __kwamma eggs__ , scrib jelly, bread and tossed salad made from __green-leachen__ , __kish-fiber__ and __scarcrow__ , with a side of __Slaughterfish__ scales. Once in a while the slaves will get a small portion of crab meat or side of scales for one of the meals. It was a reward for their hard work.

Faron was picking Salcrice in the field when he heard a strong house in the distance. He knocked on the dark elf(or drummer) 's door but was rewarded with a gruff  
"Who?" followed by a thick tug at the door and soon Faron saw a pair of beady red eyes watching him in the darkness…  
"Faron, Sir" he replied, glancing back at the breezy field's.  
"What is it?" The voice demanded, still not showing its face.  
"Sir, a howling sound came from behind the hills should we be of alarmed?"

The door of the shack opened slowly until the full body of a fully armed in leather covered dark elf stood tall in the doorway; next to him, a large ugly orc half his size. Faron did not fear the either of them, he kept his pointed chin held high and his eyes fixed on the elf's soulless red eyes when he loomed over him and spoke,

"A Howl?" He questioned, his voice dark and full of irritation as he went on dreadfully,

"You came from your work at the hour of the sun to interrupt me with something as irrelevant as a Howl!?" he boomed, and even though the Argonian could see his fury blaze up in front of him, he responded with a simple and rather gruff tone yet attempted a feared voice,

"Yes Sir."

"Sounds like a bad case of The Nix-Hounds sir." The enormous orc said from over the dark elf's shoulder, which seemed to relax him a bit yet his beady red eyes never lifted from Faron's harsh stare. He then drew back and slammed the door right in the Argonian's face, who luckily had stepped back quick enough that it missed his pointed snout by but an inch or so. A moment after the shack door flung open again with an ear piercing creek but Faron didn't wince. There stood the Slavemaster with a long leather belt woven of scamp-skin and decorated in jagged tree pines.

"Perhaps __now__ we could put an end to this "howling" with a good crop to its backside… _ _that__ will teach __IT__ not to disturb me, for stupid reasons, Like a bloody howling nix-hound probably a mile away from the fields!" he snarled, obviously referring from the animal to Faron with narrowed eyes. The Dark elf then lifted the belt at the Argonian, who immediately drew back in a flinch, waiting for the endless lashing of pain that would have him kneeling in the fields for the next few hours or so…

"Stop!" hissed a familiar fellow Argonian voice from behind him who had already made his way to a stop in front of Faron with his arms outstretched and snout to the dark elf.

"How dare-…" The angered Slavemaster began, but before he could finish the lash the pale skinned lizard faced creature turned on Faron who was now awake and alert at the scene and hissed,

"Run!" Faron was so caught off guard by the assault he could barely get his feet to budge and sudden anger…or pity rose up for his friend when he began to question his sanity "What are you do-…" but before he could finish the other male was flicking his tongue out and hissing at him, sending Faron's instinct to turn and bolt. Bolt as fast as his skinny, worn-legs would let him. Bolt across the hard patches of land and through the soothing grass with wounded feet and past several other preoccupied slaves who had already turned full attention on the escaped. Bolt up the distant hills where the shimmering son ricocheting in blankets off his rough complexion where he about keeled over; his bony claws raked over against his slouched knees as he huffed and heaved for breaths. His breath pulled tight and his lungs grew hard until he slowly but gradually looked back upon the slippery rock above the marsh. Woods seemed to stretch forever in front of him... A bridge laid out in the distance where a massive creature almost as big as a blimp of some sort soared over the horizon... Tentacles hanging from its mass like a ocean creature swimming through the clouds with pink shells and blue/violet bellies...Bull Netchs'. Just as Faron went to turn his snout about met the dark blue of bare skin and he'd only lift it in horror then stumble back into the shadow of the skinny drummer who bared his teeth when he sneered at the Argonian,

"Thought you could get away,Lizard?" His voice dripped of venom and Faron had jerked back to run again but the dark elf snagged his thin arm and dragged him backward, and the Argonian's freedom,was no more.

By the time they reached the plantation, Farons' beatings had doubled and were twice as painful as the night before. He was stripped of his garments and tied by the wrist with heavy rope against a leaning palm...his bare back exposed to the blade of the whip when the orc lifted it into the sky for all the slaves to see...to watch as he bought it down again,and again against the flesh of the male. Faron drew blood from his own tongue as he bit down on his tongue to keep from crying out in agony lash after lash...more needles digging into his skin and jerking back to pluck more and more of his weakened scales. Through the pain and the agony,the argonian's dim green hues lifted to see Tied-Tail, the Argonian who'd stuck up for him back at the Slavemaster's shack what seemed like forever ago now tied back next to him- getting the same treatment as he.

"Thanks." He whispered.


	2. Chapter II:The Slavemasters Shack

**Chapter II- The Slavemaster's Shack.**

Two Hours later of ripped skin and lost blood, the whipping was over and Faron was able to find some comfort of a bull leaf and wrap his wounds in cotton which his bed had been made of. Hibsi, the young female feline from earlier, had came to layer the wrap and added on from his bedding.

"faring well?" She asked, her hiss filled with curiosity more than concern.

"I will bare it..." He replied dryly before leaning to pluck yet another dried out ash-yam from the ground and gritted the pain away.

"You should rest before working, Give your wounds time to heal, Argonian." Hibsi said softly, watching him.

"Rest?" Faron turned on her,his voice slowly rising as the Slavemaster did earlier when it wreaked of sarcasm... Perhaps the apple hadn't fallen far from the tree after all.

"Do You realize what 'resting on my shift could get me?...not to mention more pain than I already have to deal!" He snapped at her and she immediately recoiled, but not in a suddenly frightened way, Hibsi was not the type... She was the strong, independent khajiit who fought with one paw behind her back and never backed down from a so-called "Dog fight"...and Faron slowly began to wonder, perhaps that is why she was there.

"Apologies,Argonian..." She hissed after a moment, then turning away to pull another ash yam of her own and head into to the mine-cart... Where as Faron, instead of turning to apologize himself, almost as he wanted to... Only reached down and drew another veil of salcrise from the terrain and tossed it away as well.

By night, and after a long dinner of second-seed ash-yams and greasy rat-meat, darkness fell over the sky like moon-stars in a day and almost everyone was asleep. The Slavemaster sat by the fire in between the shack and the his own shack. Faron rose.

"Faron...click-click-click...sttt...what are you doing...?" Fire-eyes, an occupation of the others shack and fellow Argonian, who was missing one of his amber hues began to hiss at the standing Argonian nearby... Who ignored the call and only creaked open the door to peer out into the night where the master sat on his rump and drank mead and gin from his bottle like he had it with envy. Faron knelt slowly and crept between the crack in the door then advanced quickly behind the shack.

"This will never work..." He was muttering to himself through the entire process.

He made it behind the Slavemaster's shack and skimmed the walls until he reached the cabin door where he quietly pried it open and managed to slither his way in without the drunk on the lounge chair noticing. He snuck further in the crowded home before using the bare of his palms to shut the door silently behind him. Once he made it inside he immediately eyed the room over with sudden distaste... Fur aligned the walls and floor...saber cat heads and elk ears mounded the walls above the crisp fireplace and wolf pelts littered the double bed at the far end of the room littered with it's own chest and end table...oil lamps and documents piled upon that table and the next... Book shelves half empty and half full aligned themselves across the wall where paintings of himself were not...and finely placed out dishes across a fine wooden table and silver-silver wares over freshly cooked meats and meals.

After a moment of staring at the sight in awe, Faron forced his numb feet to move in for the barrels and sacks that stacked there way in the corner, then the chest and open crates..drawers and documents...searching and rummaging through items that would surely go unmissed or unnoticed if he touched or took them...But there was more than loafs of bread and fresh slaughter fish the Argonian was after...Much More...and Hibsi's earlier words rang in his ears... _ _much much more...__ Not letting himself get distracted by 'words of the wise' he finished snooping through the crates and open sacks when he was cut off by the faint... _ _Crackle,Crackle,Click...__ of the cabin door.

Sha-bulk, the Slavemaster right-hand Orc came loafing in...gut abroad and loincloth danging along his belt with his fur steel buckle and decorative ax strapped along his bulky back...perhaps that's where he required the name...his looks; his size. Faron sucked in his breath...making sure every inch of him was silently dry as he outstretched his thin arms to hold himself against the ceiling just inches above the green ogres massive bald head. Sha-bulk's eyes searched the room, sniffed the air with the gruffness of his fat nose and wiped the sweat off his brow before heading to the unopened sacks... He paused momentarily, as if noticing the change in the atmosphere... Then slowly reached into the bags, pulled out a pound or two; handfuls of hound meat.

The peppered stocks of the beef seasoning got to the argonian's nose and just as he was ready to meet his demise with the sneeze of his voice; the orc had turned away and left. Faron let it out,then dropped to the floor- just about ready to dart for the door with any remaining goods when he noticed it... Just lying there on the table among the clay cups and silver plated forks...The Key to the slaves braces they wore so tightly around their wrist...the iron plated and silver plated rings that suffocated their arms, rusted and injured them so long could be easily dispatched of with the flick of that instrument... With the flick of that Key...

The Key,To freedom. The Slavemaster came in.

During the hours of whipping in mid day around one and three Faron laid shirtless on his hard,uneven bed in the slave's shack as any other hot;tired slave there would do. After moments of restless shifting, the Argonian heard mumbles from the Khajiit aside him

"What...What happened?" Hibsi whispered, but Faron only replied with a shake of his head and a dismissive swipe of the hand when he turned over on his side and muttered as he slipped his journal out,

"Nothing Just...Go back to sleep." And about thirty minutes after, he dozed off as well, only to be woke about three hours and thirty minutes later with the rest of them.

Breakfast consisted of the usual fat scuttle and kwamma egg shells mixed in a bowl of wickweat cooked above a hot fire and served in a mud dish around seven-thirty. They had fifteen minutes to finish it all, before it was thrown out to the gunar; blind/faceless,brown two legged creatures with hunched backs and smooth heads who easily became befriended to the wood-elves during the war. Cold kwamma and hot scuttle was a very unpleasant meal when it dried, or very good re-heated, but the slaves could not complain; it was all they had to eat. They returned to the fields to continue the yard work of pulling weeds and plucking vegetables.

"Saw what you did the other-night,Marshbrother." Faron, who was busy dusting his hands over his pants in failed attempt to keep them from bruising, turned to see the skinny,scaly figure of similar reflection with mixed facial features of feathers and various rings down the back of the argonian's head and thin ribs across a red belly and knotted tail which distinguished his very name; Tied-Tail, Faron recognized him from the day before when he met him in the fields, then again at the slavemaster's shack who'd told him to run and later shared similar beatings.

"It was pretty brave of you...You've got guts kid, I'll give ye that.." He complimented below his own breath, and Faron was about to return an equal saying about the night before but the other was already going on,

"Everyone was talkin' about ya' this mornin'...'bout what ye' did back there..." He growled, even though his tone was lowering, Faron was still able to pick out his tone,

"We need more people on this here farm like you."

"We __have__ got more people on this farm like that, maybe not Jussst me, but guts...bravery, what you did for me the other night... Wouldn't have taken that there beatin' if it wasssn't for you,Friend. You encouraged me. Maybe...Maybe that's Just what we all need..." Faron's tone trailed as he looked off into the rising sun from over the rocks, over the growing grass; and over the hills; just over those hills where he had almost ,just barley, may have escaped...


End file.
